Pursuit of Purpose (166)

Fits and starts. Acceleration and braking. 2020 has whittled down my brake pads- I am beginning to hear the squeaking. You know the one, every time you come to a red light or stop sign that loud, high-pitched whine of heat hitting metal. A constant reminder your vehicle needs to go to the mechanic. Then when you finally go, they hand you a list of things that need repair.

That's the year of 2020. I am literally in the middle of nowhere, I feel that sudden sense of fear that I am lost. I pull over and look at the map- it doesn't help because it is aligned to someone else's interstate. How can I keep it in gear and keep traveling in a sensible direction when I have no idea where I am?

I do not live in a world of straight, unblemished lines. Solid, study stripes of clarity and focus. Rather I exist in a place of dashes, dots and squiggles- each still somewhat directional, still hopeful, but also distracting and discombobulating. I am functioning in a state of fits and starts. A lack of momentum. Inertia is good, it forces us to problem-solve, but I feel a lack of it lately.

I have plenty of arrows in my mental quiver. But, I seem to be pulling back my bow too frequently and releasing them in every which direction. I seem to be emptying my quiver before I have a chance to take aim and find the bulls eye. Find my direction. Find my target- that being quieting my mind and finding my coordinates.

I am in a pursuit of purpose. Do I post, do I Tweet? Do I write and share? Do I retreat? Do I chat? Do I read? Do I watch movies and shows that move me? How should I react? How should I respond? Do I do either? I am spinning, trying to connect the dots, the dashes, the squiggles. But they are eluding me. Migraines and melancholy somehow always seem to find me though.

Purpose is personal. Each arrow we possess is weighted for our own need. Most days we find our direction. We see our target and our bow finds its mark. But these days- I am not finding my center. It all feels like disintegrating brake pads. That in the near future, I won't be able to stop and I will smash into a tree. The same tree meant for my arrow to connect me with.

I am in a pursuit of purpose. The important thing, within all of this uncertainty- to keep writing about it, talking about it, letting myself feel it. Get my brakes checked and to take the time to make all the updates to my vehicle. It won't be an easy fix, or a quick one- but it will be worth it. Then maybe the lines will become more uniform and the highway more inviting. And, my mindset more calm and focused.

Tale From A Dyslexic Mind (163)

I have never met a student who didn't want to learn. I have met many who were reluctant, who shied away from a challenge. I have met many for whom learning comes easy and others who struggle, with the simplest of concepts. But never have I met a student who didn't want to learn and feel like they are smart.

I was a student who never gave up, who struggled in a huge way, not because I wasn't trying, but because my teachers believed I couldn't do it. They said as much. "She is just not smart enough to be in this class." or "She isn't trying hard enough, she is just a lazy student." A label, that followed me though out grade school. I changed schools seven times, before high school and at every school I attended, I was labelled as lazy and a student who needed to focus more and pay attention more and then I would be able to be a better student. I have Dyslexia not laziness.

What is a better student? What does it mean to try harder? Is there a scale of trying hard? Does it progress exponentially? As a child, these words meant nothing to me. The phrase "If you do your best, you can accomplish anything," didn't mean what it was intended to mean. To me it meant, you aren't good enough. I did my homework. I listened in class and did my best at taking notes. They weren't thorough or perfect, I struggled with listening and transcribing. But what teachers saw was, I was easily distracted and never took complete notes. Again, perspective. I never want anyone of my students to feel the way I did growing up. I felt isolated and dumb. There is no other way to put it. It sounds harsh, but true, I am afraid. 

I have been talking a lot to my Dyslexic students. Asking them questions and making sure they never feel isolated or less than. We just get to know one another and what works for us. What tools we use to make learning more fun. We can talk about strategies, till we are blue in the face- but until we negate generalizations and really get to know students, personally, this will never happen. I know some fantastic teachers, out-going and caring teachers who just miss-connect with Dyslexic students because they are taught certain methods to help these students.

Yet, none of us who have Dyslexia are the same. We learn differently, absorb information uniquely and have certain techniques we use every day to cope with being slightly outside the bubble. The bubble of the normal people, I used to call it. We will never be ‘normal’ because we are extraordinary like everyone else. What is normal anyway? Until relationships are in place and students feel safe to tell teachers their fears, they will never truly feel connected in the classroom.

Dyslexia is personal. It is a way of processing and assembling new information into a schema that makes sense to us. This never really happened for me until high school. Not because at the time, 1980's a lot was understood about Dyslexia or that a bunch of new strategies presented themselves to teachers of the time period. 

It was because of relationships that were made with my teachers. The tools they provided were not mandated or measured, they worked because they came from a place of security and that is why I incorporated them into my learning framework. Now this is not to say that there aren't some amazing strategies out there for teaching Dyslexic students. For me, it means that these methods are just the shape of the solutions, the middle and ultimately the vibrancy will come from a teacher’s time, patience and communication.

When you see a student pull away and retreat- nudge them back in, not with new strategies alone, but with conversation. A current student I have, who is Dyslexic, told me this, on an exit ticket, she wrote this amazing response and I find it the most meaningful feedback, I have ever received. Not because it is positive, but because I wish I had had a teacher whom I could have said this to growing up. It is a reminder that we often forget to just listen.

"I have never been good at science. Too many words and concepts being thrown at me, bombarding me. When I asked questions it was, see me after class, or come to tutorials. I didn't want to spend extra-time learning something everyone else was learning in class. But, since I have been in your class, the vocabulary is presented in so many ways, I get to talk to you one to one every week, and I have lots of time to talk to other students. You really listen to what I need and make sure I get it. I know I am smart, I just need to be reminded sometimes. Not with grades or praise, but with after a hard lesson, I get it. I get to leave the classroom feeling as smart as other students. This is why, I love your class."

Back in the Saddle (161)

Quarantine as long. Teaching from home was arduous and frustrating. It left me hungry for interaction and working with fellow educators and hopefully students over the summer. I am easing back into the flow. It feels good but some long days, has left me achy- sore back and arms.

My district STEAM center offers several science camps during the summer. I generally teach both of them. The first in June is for inbound 4th and 5th graders. Then in July we have a Girls Innovator Camp and a Junior High STEM Camp. But, since we have to isolate due to Covid-19, this year all three camps are virtual.

So we have to organize activities, purchase all the supplies, sort and bag the supplies and set up an assembly, car line for parents to pick up a weeks worth of activities. Bagging them takes as long as organizing them. A full-time week of this for me and the camp host and we should have it done by Saturday.

Parents will be picking up their daily, numbered and paper bagged supplies. We have 72 in the camps. So a lot of work. Then on Zoom we will divide them into groups, 4 teachers will rotate them through breakout sessions where we will walk them through the design and play time with their activities. Plus we have team building time, video clip time, snack time (3 provided per day, per kid).

Its going to be fun. We are currently setting up for the elementary science camp. We have crystal tree making, owl pellets, x-rays and cast design, pop up books, solar ovens, telescope building and bottle rockets- just to name a few. It is going to be a very different way for the science summer camp to be taught. But, I have faith it is going to be amazing.

My 5th years teaching these camps and our first time virtual. The virus has forced us to a virtual reality for now. But, with a lot of planning and organizing and packages of activities and supplies- this one should be just as fun as previous camps. I am looking forward to next week. Just a few more days to get ready.

Back in the saddle again. 

Six Months, Future Years (159)

2020 will not be remembered fondly. The first six months have been anything but easy, pleasant or positive. Covid-19 shut down schools, businesses, lives. The economy unraveled. Unemployment rose. Inefficiency and ignorance reigned. It left us raw, exposed and vulnerable. It created a reverberation of frustration, desperation and fear. It also widened the gap of disparity and inequality.

Then came the unbelievable brutality. The lens sharpened on the civic injustice always present, yet slightly muted by the virus. It became amplified and organized. People left quarantine to join forces against police violence and social discrimination, violation and abuse. Silenced, isolated voices, exited their six feet parameters and began to march side by side.

The positive influence was grand, powerful, empowering and the streets became not only a memorial, but a tribute and congregation of supporters. But, with any cause, with any rebellion- comes those who want to use it for something else. To divide and conquer, to disrupt and cause mayhem within a gentle amplification.

Voices continued to rise and as such violence followed- erupted, singed and destroyed. Then the positive, inspiring expression gave voice to the crowd, let the declaration unite. Become a more distinct and unified communication. The tide shifted into a more focused energy. One of remembrance, thoughtful and purposeful change and awareness.

People are listening. Those in power have heard the battle cry and are listening. We need to shatter the protective barrier, in order to let in the glorious noise of grace. To allow the utterances and inflections, of those who need to be heard, become the the leaders of the movement. To unite. To open the windows of conversations- not started out of anger, but out of a common goal.

Six months has reformatted our reality. We no longer sit isolated, we gather in crowds to peacefully and radically call attention to ourselves. To our actions, responses and lack of both. We are listening. We are no longer behind the false barricade, we are tearing down the facade, we are outraged. We are also formulating change. This is the first step to transformation.

Nacirema Eciov (157)

There is a vastness in which our emotions swirl, they push at the edges, leaving an impression. There is a thread that weaves together our guilt, sorrow, fear. 

The thread becomes threadbare sometimes. The interlace loosens and we begin to unravel. As American's we are unraveling, in such a way that the openings, in the tapestry will take time to restitch. Hopefully with a new perspective.

The strength of insight, community, and peaceful monumental movements, are bringing a much-needed change to the old guard. 

The dusty, castle hung, ornamental, mosaics are tumbling - forcefully being removed- from cave-like sensibilities. This may to some, feel threatening- but all progression comes with uncomfortable loss and destruction. All change is accompanied with a little hesitancy.  

Some voices are leading the masses. Beautiful and eye opening. We are all listening to the strength of common sense. Yet, rage often makes a dent in the peaceful- violence rears itself in ways uncontrollable. There is both in this movement- calm and poignant and destructive and violent.

We are all feeling the outrage. The inner screams and outer shouts of transformation. Yet, we are not all members of the chorus- amazingly hopeful and transcendent. 

Many are merely observers, because they are members of the new congregation. They are finding their way. They are aware and will practice in their own way. They will worship their truth and within their souls. They will add to the beauty of the music of change.

They have their hymn books open and are awaiting for their moment to join in.

There has always been an American Voice- not necessarily a unified one- but one that unites us in some way. 

This is the thunderous, boom of honesty, frustration and pain that is reverberating, in the streets and parks. The sound of coming together, through a virus, through despair and revulsion and ultimately through understanding.

Fear is an ugly monster and it has always brought out the worst in people. Racism, prejudice, misogyny, hatred, and injustice all stem from fear. 

Lately the threads of our American tapestry have unraveled- they have been pulled even more apart. But, in order for a revision, an upheaval, a frightening conversation to occur- we need it to be torn apart.

Now when things are torn apart, they are often done so, in a violent way. It is the initial wave of destruction in many catastrophes. But the Earth must crumble, the ground must sink at our feet, and our sensibilities and values, must be shaken. 

It has to occur in a tremendous quake of sadness, remorse and pause. This is the only way we will stop, remove blame, and try to see our place in the situation.

We must discover our error in judgement, our misunderstandings and misconceptions, our biases. We all have them.

Most people are inherently good people. But sometimes, people are ignorant. Not because they are cruel- but because they are self-absorbed and focused on life itself. So, we also, need to forgive those who just need a little guidance, or a lot.

This country wide conversation, I hope will remain sore to the touch. Uncomfortable. Scary. 

Then, eventually it will be able to lead us, to more meaningful discussions, with real solutions. I am one soul in a country of many- I have no right to say what any solution is. 

That is a process we all must endeavor independently, within ourselves, and as a country as a whole. This the impetus for big changes.

I believe most people are purposefully thinking. Some about how to change themselves. Others on how to improve their outlook and help others find common ground. 

Most people whether they are outwardly verbal or internally altered- feel a grief. Feel an utter sense of rage and anger. How they deal is personal. How they decide to make a difference, transform themselves and respond to the cause, is personal.

I pray, that eventually once the vibration of chaos and dissonance, quiets. The deeper, harder, conversations will have a safe platform to begin. 

That positive interactions will ensue, and people will be left more open-minded. More forgiving and more willing to listen and understand without bitterness or negativity.

Untitled (155)

Once upon a time, there was a small group of villagers who lived beneath the shadow. Now this shadow moved around a lot. Sometimes the village was free of the shadow, but mostly, just around the edges of town. This cloud, always seemed to center itself, right in the middle, and it liked to sing all day long.

Some days it sung choral masterpieces from Mozart and Bach. Other days, melodic, slow tempo ballads of blues and jazz. While the shadow preferred orchestral pieces- somber tones, it found moments each day to brighten the mood with a little rock or pop. It depended on its frame of mind.

The villagers learned to cope with the music. They adapted their work schedules, to the type of chords ringing from above. The crashing of the percussion got them exercising and energized. The gentle rapture of the strings settled them down for the evening. Their mobility echoed the notes of the shadow.

One morning a villager, not wanting to exercise or follow the tempo- decided to play music of their own. They hummed glorious magic, just loud enough for nearby villagers to hear. The shadow was too preoccupied with keeping the earth shattering tunes on key. It felt a bit tired this day and had to work extra hard to stay on pitch.

The villager began to hum louder, and their measure took on a life of its own. Other villagers began to join in. Harmony, melody blending and creating the most beautiful sound. The shadow stopped, suddenly, the boom from the sky quieted. The only fusion of vibrations left, was that of silence and clarity.

Each instrument, each of the villager’s voices, were loud and carried with them such a frustration it was more of a bellow. A yawp, it was unsettling. Then they too became silenced, by the sheer awakening of personal noise. The shadow remained still and as motionless- as the first atom, before it became a symphony of energy.

Then there was an eruption of activity. The village filled with onlookers and spectators. Each wanting to listen to their practice, the sectionals of awakening. They wanted to find their thread, within the piece. The ensemble came alive. Voices blending into the most amazing concert. It was a philharmonic, symphonious, organic roar. And the outcry made the villagers weep.

The shadow was mute. The clamor below, was so thunderous, it bellowed- like a crash of spirit, soul and mind colliding with anatomy. Sound found its way into physical form. Music the protoplasm, growing and growing, into the embodiment of choice, voice, and action. Each villager with an instrument, carved from their experiences.

The shadow still remained quiet. Watching as the beautiful notes, combined into a unified celebration. Some villagers chose to be listeners, other musicians. Villagers found their place in the movement. They participated in their own way. Their voices, however subtle- added to the score. The soundtrack of this moment.

The shadow retreated. The loud boom of song, the shadow's song, dissipated- leaving the shadow humbled. Then joyful of the sharpness of each chord, the minor changes in scale, the boisterous percussion, and soft, intricate details of the wind instruments-as they combined with the wood. It was a transition, welcomed.

The shadow listened to the melody ring out- and as its volume lessened, all the noises were amplified. Many voices- crescendo or diminuendo was a cacophony, jarring and discombobulating- yet relentless. As some voices quieted, they could hear the rarest of harmonies, melancholy yet hopeful.

After a time, they used their voices to amplify the sound, and as they did, more villagers heard the sound and were moved. The villagers understood that, sometimes to truly listen, one must find the quiet in one’s soul. Then when you understand, you amplify the story of others.

If we are going to resolve anything, we have to listen first. We have to sit in the uncomfortable dissonance- the discordance. Unpleasant truths are truths that are necessary. Sometimes the most beautiful things are those that cause us to be the most uncomfortable.

What comes next, is not an ending for me to write. Or for one individual to write, but for everyone to write together. Even this story is not one of my perspective alone. It is a result of my conversations with my children. It is a discussion, ongoing.

This (154)

Today I wanted to write so many different things. I wrote one. Wrote another one. Then just got exhausted of second guessing myself.

So I am going to leave it with one simple thought..

Saying nothing does not mean lack of understanding, empathy, sympathy, guilt, regret. It doesn't mean a silent person is cruel or ignorant.

It simply means words are not forming. I am quiet for now. Because my autistic, dyslexic brain is jumbled and voiceless.